Aethyl
In my life I have been called many things: fool, trickster, thief, but there is one names that bites harder than any other. The name my family gave me. Traitor. The streets of Revtel are a dangerous place for any, but my mother found that being the bastard child of a merchant king bears fraught with danger. Cast out in shame by her family, she worked day and night on those cutthroat streets for years until she could create a family of her own. My childhood was far from luxurious, but I quickly found a use for my naturally swift fingers taking petty coin from any who could afford to lose it. My interest in the musical arts first appeared when I found an old viol amongst a bag of stolen merchandise, thinking it not worth a copper I practiced on it while taking breaks from my less legal activities. After some years of casual playing, with little more than a few tips from drunken buskers I had become quite the virtuoso, though my mother still seemed to cringe at my playing as though it brought up dark memories. Around this time I found that music was more profitable than petty theft, and I swiftly rose in popularity thanks to an anonymous patron who seemed to be able to score performances in high society with ease. With my new found fame I brought my mother and siblings up from poverty, providing for them the life that they deserved. Then there came the day that I regret more than any day in my life, a personal invitation arrived upon my doorstep, not an uncommon circumstance but this invitation was different. It was an invitation to come and play at a small dinner, with my family present, but most importantly it had come from a merchant king, it had come from my grandfather. He made no show of knowing who I was, of our relation, but the thought of showing him what he had thrown aside was too sweet not to take. And so I went to the grand estate with my family reluctantly in tow, determined to prove my worth to a man I had never known. All seemed well at first, a light dinner where any subtle hints of our relation towards him seemed to go unnoticed. Upon his invitation I headed up to play, my hands trembling as I recited the scathing song written in my head. But I never got to sound a note, for as soon as I was separated from my family they were surrounded by guards and held at sword point. My grandfather thanked me for helping him fix a past mistake, and I watched helplessly, unable to muster the words explain myself as my family was taken away thinking that I had betrayed them. I am ashamed to say that I then ran, not to try and save them but to save myself. I ran from the estate, from the city, selling my instrument and the clothes on my back for a one-way ticket out of the fae realm. With nowhere to go and no connections in this plane, I spent my last savings on a tavern room and settled into a deep winter misery from which seemingly nothing could raise me. However, one day I received a gift from an anonymous source. A viol, and the finest I had ever seen, bearing the sign of my mother's house. It was when I played my first note on that violin that I discovered what it truly meant to be a bard. Magic rushed through my veins and the connection between music and magic became clear in my mind. From that day I have lived my life with a new purpose, I see the item as a sign that my family still lives, and through the power given to me I may one day grow strong enough to return to that cursed realm, explain my innocence and save them. And so the question becomes, do I deserve to be called traitor by those I love? Perhaps. Category:Jeff's Angels